The Grocery

Growing up, I had been conditioned with a Pavlovian response. It could be argued that my Dad meant to do it; seemingly purposefully rattling his keys in his old metal coffee cup on his dresser to elicit my attention.

"Where ya going?" I'd ask. "Crazy," he'd say. It was the response to which I was accustomed. 'Crazy' could have meant any number of places. A trip to Grandma's place and the thrift bakery (if it was Saturday). For a drive to Dairy Queen for a banana split (me driving and Dad pushing the pedals...something completely unheard of in today's society). Sometimes nowhere and absolutely everywhere or even just to the filling station and back (mind you, gas wasn't $3/gallon then, so driving for the sole purpose of a fill-up wasn't too absurd). But more often than not, these 'crazy' trips lead to one place; the grocery store (again, mostly for no real purpose other than to stare at random food items and come home with a bunch of things we didn't need). Thanks Dad!

It is because of him that I love the grocery store. The smell of the store's deli and bakery. The bright colors of the unique fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats. The intrigue of all of the new products and their flashy packaging. There is just something about it. I go to the grocery and dream up all the good foods I will make and eat. Sometimes I don't even have to dream. Free samples! On a good weekend you can eat your way through an entire store. Some of the upscale gourmet groceries have even taken it a step further; have your food made and eat it in the store. Grocery shopping is an art. Having a list is one thing. Purposefully deviating from it and filling your cart with random stuff is another. It takes skill.

Most major groceries have everything you need: food staples, ethnic foods, trinkets, utensils, small modern art masterpieces, etc, and they're usually willing to get what they don't have. Occasionally you'll need to go to a specialty store, but most of the time you can lean on your favorites. Here are some of mine.

Publix--A reliable standard for weekly food runs with unmatched customer service.
Whole Foods Market--Find something new every time. Exotic food and people.
Dorothy Lane Market and the Englewood Kroger--High end goodness. Lots of free samples.
Rodanthe Texaco and BP--Everything and nothing you could possibly want at a General Store.

So take a list, lose it, and get lost in an aisle of your favorite store, I do.

An Irish lullaby

Over In Killarney,
Many years a go,
Me Mither sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low,

Just a simple little ditty,
In her good ould Irish way,
And I'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush now don't you cry!
Too-ra-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-ra-loo-ral, Thats an I-rish lul-la-by

Oft, in dreams I wander
To that cot a gain,
I feel her arms a-hugging me
As when she held me then.

And I hear her voice a hum-min'
To me as in days of yore,
When she used to rock me fast a-sleep
Outside the cabin door.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

J.R. Shannon 1914

and to my kids every night.

MB Metric Century...

...or why I get annoyed with organized century rides.

It is a ride people, not a race. Not that I'm opposed to racing, hammering, or going fast, but someone should have told that to the organizers. If you don't want people to race, don't give them timing chips and a finish line! Everyone already knows their times, all of these dudes already have cyclocomputers. In fact, what don't most of these dudes have on their bikes?

Panniers, mountain bike tires, huge mirrors, a freakin' camera, and God knows what else taped to their frames! Look, I'm not exempt from criticism either but most of society already views cyclists as abnormal freaks. We don't need rolling sideshows to further this belief; Lycra, shaved legs, and skinny tires are enough already. It is like this at most every century. More power to them, I'm just here to do my own thing.

Right from the start we were rolling at a decent pace into a nasty headwind that would only get worse throughout the morning. I wanted no part of that and my legs were already feeling a bit like wood (I'd like to believe that it was the flu that I got setting in, but maybe my form isn't what it should be). It was cold that morning so I just wanted to stay in the middle of the group for awhile until it warmed up or at least until some maniac in front of me locks up his rear wheel (going uphill no less). "Jesus!" I shout. I guess this is why it's safer at the front.

To the front I go to avoid the crazies. The peloton was about 80 strong at this point and about 20 of them must have confused my move for an attack, because more crazies kept coming (another phenomena of centuries). I thought, "Here comes crazy blow-up guy," and "Look there's way too small gear, way too high cadence guy." Again, I'm not beyond reproach here and have done this in the past, but now realize the err of my ways. Finally a guy sprints out of the saddle to be the first to reach the top of the overpass. Another jibes, "Go ahead and take the points!" Cycling humor.

Things finally settled down and sped up a bit on some open roads with tailwinds. A few solo breaks went away and came back. The group had whittled down to about 50 where it remained until the route returned to Myrtle's main drag. I have to admit that it felt pretty cool flying through the touristy part of town at 30 mph. Amongst the high-rise hotels, tourists and tourist holes, I imagined I was in a pro-peloton riding through the French Riviera instead of the Redneck Riviera. Screeeeech, wobble, pothole as another dude nearly eats it in front of me. Back to reality, I'm a club rider again.

Now there were some legitimate attacks with multiple riders, gaining small gaps. I had no interest in any of this. I was suffering to stay in the pack, my head was throbbing, and I was ready for this to be done. What is wrong with me? Finally with 22 miles to go and a group of about 25 (the same 25 that would finish together), one guy went. I didn't see it, but apparently he had a teammate on the front blocking for him. Regardless, he was gone. No one solos off the front and gains on a group unless they're a seriously strong rider with metal fortitude to boot. My jealous side wants to say "well screw that guy," but the cyclist in me gives him all the credit.

After that I decided to salvage what I could of what remained. I got a rotating paceline of about six of us going. That lasted for about 7 or 8 rotations. "What? None of you other dudes want in on this?" Alright then, no more work for me. I'll just sit in for the ride and do my little sprint finish at the end. And so it happened. I rolled across the line in fourteenth, just under 2:50. The family was there to greet me, which made me feel better. Overall not a bad day, just one that could have been better.

26.2

My wife is officially now a superhero. As if giving birth to my two children two different ways wasn't enough, she has now completed her first marathon. Twenty-six decimal two miles. I cannot imagine nor want to fathom running this far. I detest running.

Sure, I can sit on a bike for 6-plus hours and 100-plus miles. I can assure you that this does not compare. Enduring a broken arm, 3 broken feet, a possible broken hip, and some serious gastrointestinal problems, I watched KD never give up her goal. Through all of this and having virtually no meniscus in her right leg, she did it. She did it well.

6:30 in the morning and I was there to send her off. The weather was brisk and the crowd thick. An hour and a half, a Starbucks, and 12 miles later, Coco and I are back to cheer her on. Looking good. Just 14 miles to go, see you at mile 15...or not. Did she stop? Nope. Was she in trouble? Nope. Are we morons? Yep. Truth is, KD was haulin' ass. After missing her for nearly eight miles, she reappeared with 4 to go. Time for us to haul. Load up the kids and rush to the finish.

The finish clock read 4:09:16, which is more sleep than she got in the previous night, thanks to some rotten milk. Nothing like the smell of regurgitated chicken-parm and milk. That is a story for another time. For now her goal was met, not bad for a first marathon, and I don't anticipate this being her last.

I already knew that you were phenomenal and now so does everyone else. Just see for yourself.

Thanks to everyone who supported her and especially those that were there to share it with us.

Consolidation Nation

What do you do with those last few drops of shampoo in the bottle? How about those crumbs in the bottom of the chip bag? If you're like me, you'll squeeze out every last drop, every ounce, and put it into another container!

Consolidating two things into one makes me feel accomplished. "Yes! Look at all of this space I've saved!" "Wow, another laundry detergent bottle bites the dust, whoo-hoo!" This may make me sound compulsive, lame, even freakish. Right. It is. In case you haven't noticed, I have some fixation with wear, waste, and consumption of goods. Combining things in the interest of saving space and at the expense of throwing something else away, satiates this fixation.

So use up the stuff in your house, fill your recycle bin, and rush to the store to buy more! Repeat.

Speck and Arugula Za

Rustic simplicity. This is what I had a few weeks ago at one of my new favorite pizza places, EVO. Located near Park Circle in North Chuck, EVO is one of many restaurants that are popping up in an unlikely area. The area around East Montague has been revamped. Full of restaurants, bars, and coffee shops, you wouldn't know that you're surrounded by an abandoned Navy base.

Speck is a German bacon much like Prosciutto, but less salty. If you can't find it, feel free to substitute with an equivalent meat. This should take you all of 15 minutes to prepare and cook. Perfect for a light but filling dinner.

Speck and Arugula Za

Start with some lightly grilled flatbread. Top with good extra virgin olive oil and as much Parmesano-Regiano cheese as you like. Grill some more until the cheese is just melted. While warm, top with a handful of Arugula and some shaved Speck. Done.

Simple with an old world feel. Serve with a good pale ale or wheat beer

Major League

Bats, they are sick. I cannot hit curveball. Straightball I hit it very much. Curveball, bats are afraid. I ask Jobu to come, take fear from bats. I offer him cigar, rum. He will come. (PC)

You know you might think about taking Jesus Christ as your savior instead of fooling around with all this stuff. (EH)

Jesus, I like him very much, but he no help with curveball. (PC)

You trying to say Jesus Christ can't hit a curveball? (EH)

Exchange between Pedro Cerano and Eddie Harris
from Major League

Yo, bartender, Jobu needs a refill.

Up your butt, Jobu.

Eddie Harris to self
from Major League

The 4th Season

Winter. A picture photo montage of my three days of winter this year, courtesy of the Ohio Valley. Enjoy.

This is the view my parents' backyard. Country living at its finest. It took me growing up to realize how lucky I was to live here. Fresh air, open spaces, and beautiful scenery.

A giant silver maple. I wonder how many winters it has seen? They winter air was cold and stagnant, the sound of silence deafening. It's amazing how your senses are heightened by the snow. Sound carries, ice is sharp and clear, skies more blue.

One of two chicken coops. It still smelled musty and barn-like, but all the chickens had long since left. My wife asked me if this was ever a functioning out-house. The Osage Orange trees in the background wash over the hedge like a wave; their roots being pulled from the ground by the weight of the tree. The wood of these trees is extremely hard and a beautiful orange color. In the fall they drop hedge apples, a strange, green, brain-like fruit that exudes a sticky milky substance and give horses gas!

A foreboding and ominous winter sky over a forest of trees provides a reminder of how small and vulnerable we are. It is a necessary dormancy that will soon release its grip. Though only a short time, I use this as a time to reflect.
Soon enough I am without it.

Wear it out

Have you ever examined the bottom of your shoes? Your car tires? An old T-shirt? Things wear out. Keep something and use it to the fullest extent and eventually it will fail. The study of wear is part of a science called Tribology, and is a huge concern for industry. Companies spend millions studying it. Developing new lubricants and materials to prevent it. Some materials are even made to wear or wear a certain way. Sand paper, tires, bearings, baseball mits. At the same time, consumers spend even more replacing worn out stuff. It is a viscous cycle yet we keep coming back for more.

To clarify, I'm not talking about just buying new things. As Americans, we are the worst of glutons; buying everything in sight just to have it. No. I'm talking about using something until it breaks, siezes, or wears too thin to be usable and then replacing it. This process is fascinating and gratifying to me. To have used something up. To have gotten your money's worth. Fantastic.
Buy something. Use it up. Run it into the ground.